


The Hunted (Or What Is This)

by stileskolpath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Derek, BAMF Stiles, Derek Saves Stiles, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Stiles, Little Red Stiles, M/M, Pack Feels, Scent Marking, Scenting, Stiles Saves The Day, Stiles Takes Care Of Derek, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Werewolf Derek, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Senses, Werewolves, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:43:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stileskolpath/pseuds/stileskolpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a while, everything was normal. They were happy, the pack was happy. But that couldn't last forever. It didn't take long until a new fight was brought to Derek and Stiles' doorstep.</p><p>The Kolpaths. A ruthless, massive clan of hunters led by a powerful matriarch. Everyone who crosses her winds up, well, not being a problem anymore. Just ask the Argents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wolf & I

**Author's Note:**

> So this Work In Progress is a semi-collaboration between me, Stiles Kolpath (or SK), known as watchthewolvesrun and Aidi, known as IndecentDrawer, where she basically created the artwork, and I wrote what story came into my mind as the result of seeing it. To clarify, all artwork posted along with this story is hers, and I just provided the writing.
> 
> It is a collaboration of sorts, wherein Aidi essentially creates a scene, and I build it into the existing story and add another part to it. It should be noted that all artwork here is presented with her permission.
> 
> And since this is a WIP, the tags, warnings, and ratings reflect the content that the story WILL have in it at some point (this is mostly due to the fact that I will totally forget to update them otherwise).

The chain was just for show. It was a status symbol. Stiles needed it to survive as much as he needed Derek. But they didn’t know that. Would never know that. Not until he wanted them to. Because as soon as they knew, that would be it. That would be when Stiles was fighting, running, trying to get out.

And he wanted to get out. And he needed to get out. And he needed Derek to do that.

So each night, he made his way down to the dungeon, the cold, dank stone cell where Derek spent his days and nights. He would grab his chain along the way, wrapping the clinking, shiny links around his forearm as he strolled out of his quarters, whistling idly, pretending like everything wasn’t falling apart at the seams. Today, the tune was _Wolf & I _ by Oh Land. The soft, discordant melody was Stiles’ quiet rebellion, the subtle way he got back at the Kolpath family, the clan of hunters that he had somehow been absorbed into.

He passed several of the Matriarch’s younger kids on his way to the basement cell, not giving them a second glance as he swung his chain absentmindedly in slow, arcing circles.

When he reached the door, he let out a sigh. Every time he saw Derek, he wished that it was different. He wished that the werewolf could be free, that they _both_ could be free. Like they used to be, before the Kolpaths moved in to Beacon Hills, and slowly but surely, wiped out the fledgling pack he and Derek had collected over the years.

It hadn’t mattered that they were peaceful, that they had a code with the Argents. They were the first ones to be attacked by the new group of hunters. Allison barely escaped with her life when they burned down the building she and her father had been living in since Victoria died. Her dad hadn’t been so lucky.

The Stilinski-Hale Pack was second. It was still an open wound for them both. Stiles didn’t want to think about it. As he pushed open the door, oiled iron hinges creaking loudly, he stepped into the cold room, and had to avert his eyes. The chained and defeated-looking werewolf was stuck in his shift, wolfed-out and bound to the pole of mountain ash in the center of the room. He closed the door, and locked it tight behind him.

Derek looked the same as the day they had been captured, really. Despite his captivity, his physique remained largely unchanged. Stiles thanked whatever gods existed for that, because he didn’t think he’d survive himself if his mate was wasting away down here, alone. The only things that were different were his eyes. Gone were the glowing red embers that normally flashed behind them when he shifted into alpha form. Sitting in their place were dull, muddied irises, the color of old blood, looking up at Stiles with a cross between sadness, affection, and hopelessness. It was enough to boil the blood in his veins.

Stiles walked over to him, and reached a hand out into his hair, threading his long fingers through it delicately. He knew that Derek liked it. That he liked any touch from Stiles. That he craved it. Stiles did too. But after they were captured, that went away along with every other part of their once semi-normal life. All the silent, tactile signs, the simple touches of borne out of love and instinctive need, all of them had to be cast aside. Because Stiles would never be able to get rid of Derek’s scent. Over time, with each new touch, each subtle graze of fingers across skin, or quiet embrace, the smell would sink deeper into Stiles’ pores. It would linger, a quiet message to any other wolf that Stiles was _marked_ , that he was _taken_. And if Galiana detected even the slightest hint of werewolf on Stiles, she would certainly throw him in the same dungeon as Derek, just so he wouldn’t stink up her compound.

Stiles wondered if that was better than their current situation. As Derek’s eyes flicked up to his, he knew it wasn’t. But he still held onto that doubt.

"Stiles?" Derek asked, squinting in the darkness, sniffing at the air.

Stiles knelt, bringing himself down to Derek’s level. “Yeah, Der?”

"I can’t take this again. I don’t want to walk anymore."

"You have to, Der. This is the last time, I promise. I’m gonna get us out tonight."

Derek’s eyes went wide, red irises glowing for a second. “How?”

Stiles unzipped his hoodie, revealing the amalgamation of knives, grenades, and detonation charges he had shoved into the baggy lining of the sweater. Around his shoulders sat two holsters, each cradling one of the matte black .45’s he had been trained with after he had been initiated by the Kolpaths.

Derek shot him a questioning look."Are you sure?" He whispered.

Stiles gave him a quiet, reassured smile. "As sure as I’ll ever be."

"But… I don’t want you to get hurt. I’d rather stay here forever than watch that happen."

Stiles shrugged, his face a mask of false bravado. He reached out and cupped Derek’s cheek, rubbing the pad of a thumb against his jaw. “You won’t. Trust me. Between all this,” he gestured to the weapons, “and this,” he knocked a fist over the thinly-set woven kevlar body armor vest that was also hidden by his customary red jacket, “it’ll be hard to take me down. I’m more worried about you.”

Derek shook his head. “I’ll be fine. It’s the full moon tonight. I can feel it. That means that I’ll be stronger than usual, especially if I don’t control it. But how am I supposed to get out of the chain?” He was referring to the linked silver-and-mountain-ash that Stiles had since divested of himself near the door.

Stiles chuckled as he zipped his jacket back up, hiding his private arsenal. “I cut a few links. It looks like they are fine, but you’ll be able to snap them easily once I give you the signal.”

"What’s that?" Derek cocked his head to the side, his eyes shining a little brighter, light behind them holding on for just a little longer.

"You’ll know it when you hear it." Derek leaned forward, as far as the shackles would allow, and took a sharp inhale of Stiles’ scent. Stiles used to love it when he did that. Somewhere, deep inside, he knew he still did. But now, it just looked sad, almost desperate. Like it was all the happiness that Derek was likely to experience anymore. And that was true, to a certain extent. Chained and bound all day, with no visitors, barely any food or water, no access to the outside, to Stiles, or anyone, except for their nightly "walk," it was taking its toll. That was why Stiles had decided that today was the day. Derek might not be able to make it through another ‘walk’, but if Stiles had to sit through one more day in this hell-hole, pretending he hadn’t thought of a thousand ways to kill everyone he interacted with, right up to Galiana herself, he wasn’t sure he’d make it through the night.

He slowly undid the shackles at Derek’s wrists, and rubbed a hand over the skin where they had rubbed it raw until he felt the slight prickle of Derek’s healing kick in. He stood up as Derek did, flexing his muscles and growling softly. He rolled his neck the way that Stiles always loved, and the human couldn’t help but reach forward and press a frantic, desperate kiss against his lips, in hopes of catching their taste for what might be the last time. Derek protested at first, probably getting ready to mutter something about scents and hunters, but Stiles didn’t care. It had been too long. He needed it. Besides, the quick brush of Derek’s mouth on his own wouldn’t leave a scent-trace strong enough for even Galiana to detect.

"Stiles, you know-"

"Relax, Sourwolf, it’ll be fine." Stiles patted his cheek and flicked a tongue across his own lips, savoring the taste of Derek’s mouth. Derek smiled at his name in spite of it all, hopeless visage broken for a moment as Stiles stepped back to grab the chain, playing with the padlock as he turned back to Derek. He sighed. "You know I love you, right?"

Derek looked at him questioningly, his ears perking up. “Of course.”

"Always have. Ever since that day in the woods." Stiles persisted, smiling sadly at the memory.

Derek hung his head. “I know. I love you too.”

Stiles chuckled as he stepped into the alpha’s personal space, his heart stammering like it used to when they were this close. _Some things never change._ Derek’s chin fell forward onto his mate’s shoulder as he lifted the chain and fastened it around the back of his neck, clicking the lock shut securely through the links. He let Derek nuzzle the side of his head for a second, savoring the quick, sharp fire set to his own nerves by the touch.

"Time for your walk," Stiles said, in his best condescending hunter voice, the way that Galiana had taught him. It broke halfway through. Derek chuckled and nodded against his shoulder.

“You really are a shit hunter.”

“Hey now, caught you, didn’t I?” Derek let a quiet hum vibrate from his chest as Stiles ran his fingers through the hair behind his ears.

Slowly, like it was the last thing that Stiles was ever going to do, he turned and opened the basement door, leading Derek on his leash, sighing as he pulled it inward and stepping out into the hallway.

Quietly, nervously, he started whistling his tune again as they made their way to the stairs, chain clinking in the darkness as they padded along.


	2. So It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The long, formal dining room wasn’t as empty as Stiles would have liked. And Galiana, the Matriarch of the Kolpath clan, was there already, sipping wine from an overlarge glass at the head of the table. 
> 
> They sat at the far end of a long rosewood table, dark and ancient, arrayed with at least twenty other tall-backed, red velvet-lined chairs, the head of each one embroidered with the crest of House Kolpath. Almost all of them were occupied.
> 
> Stiles turned his head back to the room as Derek shuffled behind him, his face a mask of haughty confidence. One last time, he thought."

The long, formal dining room wasn’t as empty as Stiles would have liked. And Galiana, the Matriarch of the Kolpath clan, was there already, sipping wine from an overlarge glass at the head of the table. Her quiet, brooding husband, Chase, sat next to her, fingering the base of his own glass absentmindedly as he stared at the table. They sat at the far end of a long rosewood table, dark and ancient, arrayed with at least twenty other tall-backed, red velvet-lined chairs, the head of each one embroidered with the crest of House Kolpath. Almost all of them were occupied.

The rest of the hunters were sitting helter-skelter around the table, some eating, some talking, the odd empty seat between most of them. Stiles sighed quickly in the doorway, and turned to glance expectantly at Derek, a quiet reminder to assume his _natural_ place, hunched submissively behind his mate, his shoulders bent in shame of the monster that the hunters took him for. Standing there, like an equal to a human in Galiana’s presence would look wholly out of place. And as much as it killed Stiles to see his mate humiliated again, Derek had to act the part, for both their sakes. He could not be the partner, the _mate_ that Stiles had bonded with all those years ago. Stiles turned his head back to the room as Derek shuffled behind him, his face a mask of haughty confidence. _One last time_ , he thought.

It was Galiana, of course, who looked up from her glass and settled back in her chair with a smug smile twisted across her lips, stained blood-red from the wine. She was fair-skinned and tall, her eyes light green and flecked with malice. Wherever she looked, power seeped from them. She had long, jet-black hair that she kept neatly tied up in a wrapped bun, not a single strand out of place. Stiles had to suppress the hatred coursing through his veins as he caught her eyes, flickering back and forth between him and Derek with barely-contained glee.

She loved it when Stiles paraded her favorite captured alpha around each night on his “walks.” To her, Derek’s submission, his allowing himself to be captured, was a weakness, one that she couldn’t reward with a quick death. She had to torture him, shame him, make him feel like he was worse than dirt, worse than the beast she thought he was. Once she had thoroughly broken his spirit, only then would she grant him the luxury of dying, being sliced in half like the rest of his kind, like the rest of his pack. Stiles hated watching it, the sick mirth glinting behind her eyes as she watched. He always bit back angry tears when she smirked darkly at his mate. Because he knew what was coming.

"Ah, Stilinski. I see you’ve brought your pet up for a little walk. How is the _dog_ this evening?” Derek growled. Stiles yanked the chain, silencing him dutifully, as he was expected to. Derek winced sharply as the links clinked together around his neck.

"He’s fine," Stiles clipped back, his voice betraying nothing. He strolled around the table as some of the other hunters sniggered quietly to themselves. This was as much a show for them as it was for their leader. Some just watched through steely eyes, hands drifting to hidden holsters or knives, never really comfortable around a living, breathing werewolf, let alone an alpha. Still others others masked their fear behind uneasy laughter, or the occasional jeer.

"Good, I do so hate it to see our… _guest_ so uncomfortable.” Galiana responded. “Come, bring him to me. I want to give him something to eat.” She snapped her fingers, and a waiter appeared at her shoulder with a silver tray, heavily laden with red, bloodied meat. Stiles edged around the long table, bringing Derek to a stop as he paused in front of the Matriarch and looking away. As she tossed the rarest, bloodiest-looking steak at him, it bounced mundanely off of his chest with a sickeningly wet sound, before splattering onto the carpet. Blood trickled down the skin, mingling with his chest hair as it dripped. Derek growled low in his throat. This time, Stiles didn’t stop it. “Well?” Galiana intoned expectantly, lifting her glass of wine back to her lips and taking a sip, “eat, _dog_ , or I’ll have Stilinski here take you back down to your cell and whip you again.” Stiles clenched a fist around the chain in his hands, knuckles going white at the memory. Galiana chuckled, evil depth to her voice.

Derek flicked his ears toward Stiles’ pounding heart, before glaring at the elder huntress and tucking them back, as he slowly crouched to the ground and sank his teeth into the proffered meat. Around them, the other hunters laughed. Stiles fought to keep his face from flushing with barely contained heat. As much as it tore him to pieces to watch the cruel, humiliating ritual, knotting something deep inside him, he knew that he had to let it play out. Galiana enjoyed her games, her sadistic sense of humor encouraged by the laughing of her audience. Stiles wanted nothing more than to kill her where she sat, to rip the nails from her fingers one by one, and cut her in half the way she same way she had taken the lives of the many, many werewolves that had crossed her path, including the innocent teenagers that had once been part of his and Derek’s pack. He willed his heart to slow its frantic beating in his chest as he envisioned it. As violent as a thought it was, it helped to calm his seething rage.

Her voice snapped him back to reality.

"Stilinski!" She barked.

"Wha-, yes ma’am?"

"Your pet. He’s finished eating. Take him back to his cell." She waved them both away, her entertainment concluded. That was how it went usually. She had her fun, now, with the tilt of her wrist around the wine glass, she was done.

Derek gave a soft whimper, half playing the part, half genuinely wanting literally anything else to happen rather than being returned to the cold, dank ten-by-ten stone room he had been relegated to for the past several months. The sound almost made Stiles want to take him back there, because at least there, he couldn’t be further harassed. At least in his cell, Galiana couldn’t parade him about like some kind of captive show dog. At least in his cell, Stiles could share a private, soothing touch with him, or maybe, if they were lucky, a quick, silent kiss before Stiles would be forced to return to his quarters, or to dinner, lest he raise some kind of suspicion.

He chanced a look down at the alpha, his pointed ears dropped submissively at the sides of his head. And any doubts Stiles had instantly washed away.

_An alpha submits to no one_ , he thought as his fists tightened around the chain in his hands as Derek’s red eyes met his own for the slightest of seconds. They flashed brightly. Galiana shot him a glare.

"I said, take him away. _Go_.”

"No." Stiles meant to say it louder, but it came out as a mumble. The Matriarch bristled in front of him, wine glass frozen halfway to her lips. Next to her, her husband cocked an eyebrow.

"What did you say to me?" Her question was a deadly whisper, laced with venom. The room grew silent as the rest of the hunters froze in their chairs, some with food stabbed onto their forks, in limbo halfway between their plates and their mouths.

Stiles cleared his throat, thumb toying with one of the links on his chain. “I said _'No'.”_ He bit the words out carefully this time. “I’m not taking him back to his cell. I’m leaving, and I’m taking _Derek_ with me.” Stiles used his name, savored the power it flooded into his veins. He was never supposed to use Derek’s name. The werewolf was always ‘the pet’ or ‘the dog’ or ‘the wolf.’ His defiance betrayed his true allegiance, and the Matriarch knew it. She would never let him leave alive, if she could help it. She leveled her eyes at him, squinting dangerously into his own. Stiles held her gaze, as Derek’s ears perked up. He growled. Galiana ignored him as she set her glass back onto the table and straightened herself.

"So that’s how this is going to be, then?" She asked. "You’re just going to take your little… _pet_ , and leave?”

Despite the icy glare that should have sent Stiles cowering back into the corner, he held his ground. “He’s not my pet,” his anger was beginning to squelch out the fear that had been slicing through him, strengthening his resolve. “He’s my _mate_.”

The collective gasp from the rest of the hunters didn’t even register in Stiles’ ears.

"Oh, really, Stilinski? Is that so?"

Stiles nodded, and a flash of memory slipped across his mind.

—

Six months ago, when they were finally cornered in Derek’s loft after months of running, hiding out in the preserve, and watching as the hunters ransacked the town looking for them, Derek had thought of an idea. The building surrounded and the hunters bearing down on them, and they didn’t have much time.

"Hit me," He had said, turning to his mate from where they were crouched in the corner. Above them, gunshots slicing through the air, whizzing by and embedding themselves in the brick behind their heads with quick, shunted thunks.

"What?" Stiles asked, unable to hide his incredulous tone, even amidst the gunfire.

“ _Hit. Me._ " Derek had repeated. "It’s the only way."

"The only way for- for what?"

"Just shut up and do it!" Derek had yelled, putting a little alpha into the command. Stiles had obliged almost immediately, clocking him square across the jaw with his closed fist. Derek shook it off quickly. "Again," the werewolf mouthed.

Stiles shook his head violently, a sob slipping into his throat. No. He couldn’t hurt Derek. The werewolf grabbed him by the collar, yanking him close. “Do it, or we _both_ die.” He planted a firm, terrified kiss against Stiles’ mouth, as if he knew he might not get to do it again. Stiles’ lips quivered in fear. Then all the pieces fell into place. The only way that Stiles would make it out of this would be if he made it look like _he_ took out the alpha. He was still a human, after all. No one would suspect that he was actually Derek’s mate, the one that had been giving them so much trouble. Derek was banking on that. Stiles knew what he was doing, he knew that Derek was trying to save him, repaying him for all the times before when he had done the same. He gave Derek a silent, knowing look, fear playing across his eyes. He formed a question in his mind, but before he could ask it, Derek answered. “Your bat.”

It was lying on the floor next to them, Stiles’ specially-made mountain ash baseball bat that he had infused with wolfsbane oil. He reached reached for it from behind their barricade as the bullets continued to spray over their heads. As he wrapped a hand around the wrapped handle, fingers sliding into the familiar dips in the fabric, he chanced one last questioning look at Derek, and whispered a quick, broken “I’m sorry.” Derek nodded slightly. _It was okay._

Then Stiles had brought the bat down over his head.

—

"Fine," Galiana’s voice took on a sultry, hard tone, snapping Stiles back to reality. "If you want to consort with this… this _beast_ , then you will die with him.” She rose from her chair, and around them, the sounds of the other hunters standing quickly, scraping boots and chairs across the wooden floor, hands quivering over their concealed weapons, and Stiles knew that it was now or never.

Stiles chuckled as he quietly gathered the slack in the chain connecting him to Derek. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said. Derek cocked a sideways glance at him. There was no lie in his heart. Stiles gave the elder huntress a wry smile. “Oh, and I think you’ll find this _dog_ of mine has learned a few tricks since he’s been here.” He glanced down at Derek, whose fangs were barred in a quiet growl. Blood from the steak was still dripping down his chin.

Stiles’ fingers tightened around the chain, just above the links he had tampered with the night before. “ _Fetch,_ " he bellowed, and time seemed to slow around him. Derek lunged against the chain, yanking it taut. With three soft, metallic pops, the sabotaged links snapped like brittle wood, and Galiana’s eyes went wide as he flew at her, claws-first.

The useless chain falling from his hands, Stiles dropped to the ground and rolled away as he heard the first hunter pull the trigger.


	3. Saved By A Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The gunshot sent a pang of fear through Stiles as he dropped and rolled for the nearest cover. He had no way of knowing whether or not it was aimed at him or at Derek. He wasn’t sure which was worse. 
> 
> Then it hit him. 
> 
> Literally hit him."

The gunshot sent a pang of fear through Stiles as he dropped and rolled for the nearest cover. He had no way of knowing whether or not it was aimed at him or at Derek. He wasn’t sure which was worse. Then it hit him. Literally _hit_ him. The hunter who fired the shot apparently had decided he was the larger threat of the two. Excellent. In a weird way, Stiles was kind of relieved. Derek didn’t have armor like he did, and even with his werewolf healing, most of these hunters used, almost exclusively, rounds infused with wolfsbane.

The relief lasted only a split second before the pain of the impact ripped through his nerves. It had struck the thickest part of the armor, right between his shoulderblades, and the kevlar had dutifully stopped the shot from entering his body. However, it did nothing to absorb the sudden, shockwave caused by the near-instantaneous stop in the bullet’s momentum. It was enough to make Stiles falter mid-roll, and end up sprawled against the massive curio that would have been his cover had everything gone according to plan.

He laid there, nerves spasming every muscle from his spine out to his fingers as the bullet’s impact ricocheted off of them. The pain was blinding, cloaking his vision in white and dulling out all sounds in his ears with a discordant, pulsing ring. He tried to speak but the air had been knocked from his chest, and for a helpless moment, he thought Stiles thought he was actually going to die.

As quickly as it came, it began to fade. The room started to take shape around him again, all discordant yells and gunfire mixed with the familiar feral snarling of a werewolf on the offensive. Just as he was about to get to his feet, he heard a familiar, angry roar. _Derek_. Then something solid cracked against the side of his head, and everything went black.

\--

When he woke, Stiles wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive. He knew he was tied to something, his hands lashed behind his back almost painfully. His head was throbbing, pulsing with each beat of his heart. He tried to lift it, but the necessary muscles screamed in protest. His vision was blurry, like he was trying to look through a dense fog. And literally everything he owned ached. He was trying to figure out how long he had been out when a familiar, sultry voice cut the thought off at the base.

“Well look who finally decided to rejoin us,” Galiana said icily, her voice circling around to Stiles’ side. He couldn’t actually see her, but his ears tracked the movement. “The boy who _ruts_ with wolves, back from the dead.” Stiles ignored the jab, as one question filtered past all the others that were forming in his mind.

“Where’s...Derek?” He managed to get out, his voice croaking from his dry-as-a-bone throat.

Galiana just laughed. It was a dark, evil sound on the best of days, and now it sounded downright menacing.

“He turned tail and ran as soon as Chase knocked you out.” It took Stiles a second or two to remember that Chase was the huntress’s quiet, brooding husband. He had been sitting next to her at dinner, before everything happened. “The stupid beast dove through one of the windows just to save his own skin.” She paused, Stiles assumed, to savor whatever pained expression was playing across his face. Then her voice lowered to right in front of face as she crouched onto his level. She managed her best, albeit feigned, concerned tone as she laid a hand on his shoulder, being sure to dig in her sharp fingernails. “I’m afraid he abandoned you, my dear.” Stiles recoiled, whether from the words or from the touch, he wasn’t sure.

As much as Stiles knew it wasn’t true, that there was no way that Derek would leave him behind, not unless he had no other choice, he couldn’t help but feel a silent, cold fear slide into his veins, tightening his heart against his chest. He pulled at his restraints as he blinked, the fog around his eyes slowly beginning to dissolve.

“You’re lying,” he bit through his clenched teeth.

The huntress just chuckled quietly in response. “Oh, I wish I was, for your sake, my dear. Better for you to die _with_ your mate than alone in the cell that he himself used to occupy.” Stiles tried to lunge at her with a snarl, but the chair he was trussed to wouldn’t allow it. The pulse of the anger-fueled adrenaline in his veins snapped his vision back into clarity. “Besides,” she mused darkly, “shouldn’t you be worried more about yourself after the events of tonight, rather than your pet?”

He slumped back into the chair and hung his head, taking in a deep breath before letting his eyes flick up to Galiana’s. He didn’t dignify her question with a response, because frankly, any scenario in which he got Derek out of this place, free of the hunters’ chains and abuse, gave him less cause to worry than if they were _both_ still stuck there. Derek had saved him once, and Stiles was more than happy to return the favor to his mate, even if it meant his own life in return.

“You look like shit,” Stiles taunted at the elder huntress. He guessed that it hadn’t been long after the dinner battle that he had been brought down here, based on her disheveled state. She had probably wanted to question him right away, or simply torture him. Either way, Galiana Kolpath was never much for patience.

She leveled an impudent glare at him before slamming a hand to his neck and squeezing hard, digging her sharp nails into the skin. “I could end you right here, you know.” She bit out through clenched teeth. “Choke the life from you for all the trouble you and your wolf  have caused me.” Stiles could still smell the red wine and blood on her breath. The words were meant to come across as a menacing whisper, a threat to grip his heart in fear, but instead, all Stiles heard was anger, wounded pride, and barely-contained terror.

Underneath her hold, Stiles let his eyes flick across her face, just inches from his own, scanning her mussed countenance curiously.

Her usually immaculately-updone hairdo was frazzled and frayed in places, and her face was flecked with cuts and scrapes from flying glass. Her clothes were torn in places, revealing deep gashes in the skin underneath, the frayed edges of fabric caked with nearly-dried blood. But the wounds that gave Stiles the most satisfaction were the two hand-shaped bruises beginning to form around her neck. Not hands, he corrected himself, but claws. If he squinted, he could see tiny, talon-shaped puncture marks at the tip of each finger of the bruises. _So Derek had tried to kill her before he made his escape. Good._ “And I see that Derek made his mark on you too…” he nodded at her neck as much as her grip would allow. “Tell me, is that why you’re so afraid now? Because he got close enough to kill you?” Stiles asked, a snarky air suffusing his still-rough voice. “Or is it because you know he’ll be back for me?”

He didn’t even feel it when her fist wind back to strike him, let alone when connected with his jaw. All he felt were the screams of his nerves as his head twisted violently from the hit, forcing her to release her grip on his neck. Air crashed back into his lungs. He tasted metal, and spat a glob of blood onto the floor at his side, before shifting back into the chair.

The huntress tutted darkly as she turned away from him back toward the door, flexing her hand. “If he comes back, then he is even dumber than I thought he was,” she replied over her shoulder, tone cold as ice. “Because not only will he not be quick enough to save you, he won’t even be able to save himself.” She pulled the collar of her blouse higher around the bruises absentmindedly, and Stiles suppressed a smile as the pain from her strike began to coalesce in his jaw.

“If Derek comes back for me, _bitch_ ,” Stiles bit off the word, “you are the only one that is going to need saving.” She turned back towards him, eyes ignited with rage at the insolence spewing from his mouth, and raised her fist again. Stiles’ heartbeat went into overdrive in preparation for what was to come.

That was when he heard it. There were muted gunshots, and muffled yells, broken by a familiar snarling, deep roar, from somewhere outside the cell. Derek. Galiana whipped toward it. The sounds were too far off to be right outside the door, though. Stiles guessed they were at the main entrance to the dungeon, the thick, oak-and-iron door that opened up right into the main antechamber of the mansion. There was one final, blood-curdling scream of pain, and the dull, wet sound of ripping flesh before it was silenced completely.

A small, fear-laced curse slipped from the huntress’s lips. Stiles was about to say something, anything to throw her more off-balance, when she whirled back to him. She was on him in an eyeblink, a small frame-locked knife flicking out across his neck as she spun behind him and locked the fingers of her other hand through his hair, yanking his head back jerkily. Stiles froze at the touch of the razor-sharp blade as she whispered a warning into his ear. Her warm, blood-and-wine-soaked breath played across the skin, prickling it with an uncomfortable tingling sensation.

“If he makes one wrong move, I will kill you, do you understand me?” Stiles gulped, instinctive, primal fear slicing through his veins as the edge of the blade grated against his flesh. He tried to suppress it, just as he heard the door to the basement shatter on its hinges.

He jumped slightly, startled by the almost explosive sound. That was when the world outside the cell erupted in gunfire. It came in a long, panicked spray, like whoever was stationed at the cell door was trying to fill every shadow, every flicker of light, every hint of movement with the contents of his clip. Stiles winced at the sound, as Galiana’s lips curled into an evil smile behind his ear. She huffed out a little, sadistic laugh, making his blood boil in his veins. She was thinking the same thing Stiles was: _no one could have survived that_.

That was when the gunfire suddenly ceased, and the sound of a deep, feral snarl reverberated through the walls of the cell. Stiles silently thanked whatever was watching over Derek. The hunter guarding the door let out a scream; it was the broken, blood-curdling plea of someone who knew they were going to die. His weapon made a clacking sound as it struck the ground at his feet. Behind his ear, Galiana’s smile faltered. Stiles could hear it. There was a soft crack, and the cry was suddenly silenced before something heavy slammed against the door with a dull thud. Stiles felt the blade press more deeply into his flesh, quivering slightly, and he let out an involuntary hiss of pain as he heard keys jingle lightly from outside the door.

The tumblers in the lock turned, and the door was pushed open with a sharp screech of its metal hinges. It crashed into the wall behind it with enough force to crack the rough-hewn rock. The figure that stood in the archway still sported a collar, with small length of broken chain dangling from it. His forearms were splattered with crimson blood, matching the bright, almost pulsing, red glow of his eyes. They flicked across the scene in front of him from underneath his wolfed-out scowl, pupils widening as his nose drank in the scent of his mate and the hunter currently threatening him. His chest was heaving from exertion, each exhale accompanied by a soft, rumbling growl. Derek looked more like a monster than Stiles had ever seen him, and he would have been terrified, should have been, because the creature staring back at him was a living, breathing nightmare.

But all Stiles felt was relief. Because Derek had not only made it out of the battle alive, but he had come back to save him. The werewolf took an involuntary step towards his mate before Galiana waved the blade of her knife in warning. Derek snarled.

“Come any closer, and I will kill him,” she threatened. She was stalling. Stiles knew it.

Derek responded with another snarl, baring his fangs and crouching to attack. “Touch him, and I will rip your throat out, with my _teeth_.” Stiles suppressed a smile. There was a time, not too long ago, when those threats were made at him. Galiana just laughed.

“Please, I’ve dealt with my share of alphas in my time, I can certainly deal with you.” Her words were meant to be soaked in confidence, but instead came out dripping with doubt. “Not to mention, you couldn’t kill me before, and you damn sure won’t be able to do it now.”

Derek growled. “You’re threatening my mate. _And_ you’re alone. It’s a chance I am willing to take.”

The sound of Galiana swallowing behind his head made Stiles’ heart uptick its beat. “You’re willing to bet _his_ life that you can take me down before I slash his throat? And I’m the one that’s threatening him… You wolves are so dense.” Derek growled in response. Galiana sighed. “Tell you what, give up here and now, and take his place, and I will let both of you live out the rest of your days here, free to… _do_ as you please.” Derek’s ears perked up.

Stiles barely let her finish before he spoke, “Don’t listen to her, Der. She’s gonna kill us both anyw-” He was cut off by the sharp whap of the flat of the knifeblade against his throat.

“What’ll it be, wolf? Take your chances with me, or give yourself up?” Derek shifted his weight between his legs, as if trying to decide. Then his eyes locked onto Stiles’.

A silent, unspoken assent passed between them. Stiles nodded slightly, imperceptibly, and he knew Derek understood.

_Attack_.

With a wild roar and the cracking of stone beneath his feet, Derek lunged at Galiana. Stiles blinked as the air rushed around him, barely catching the motion of the werewolf flying over his head. He felt the knife prick into his skin for an instant, Galiana’s promise to kill him if Derek attacked carried only partially to fruition. As Stiles heard the muted _whump_ of Derek making contact with her body, the blade was knocked free of her grip and spun harmlessly toward the ground, clattering hollowly against the ground. She let out a wordless shriek of fear, all semblance of power and control leaving the huntress’s mind as he slammed into her. There was a crack of bone against stone, and the sound was silenced. It had all happened in the span of seconds, and yet as Stiles’ heart pounded away in his chest, it seemed like the ordeal had taken hours.

He let himself slump forward in his chair, until he felt the snick of familiar claws against his restraints. Derek was on him in an instant, blood-smeared claws gently propping up his head, their pads pressed into his jaw. “Stiles,” his wolfed-out voice was broken, like he had been holding on this entire time, and now, now that it was over, all the fear he had suppressed was finally slipping through the cracks.

Stiles raised his hands to touch Derek’s forearms, wrapping long fingers around them and gripping tightly, like if he let go, they’d be taken from him. “Derek,” he breathed out.

“I’m so sorry, Stiles. For everything. I’m so so sorry.” He kept repeating it over and over again, his voice giving way as tears began to glass over his red eyes.

“Der,” Stiles sighed, “it’s okay, it’s okay. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” A wave of fatigue suddenly washed over him, as if his body knew he was safe, that in the arms of his mate, that Stiles could finally relax, that he was finally _home_. He kind of sank into Derek’s claws, as the werewolf moved to wrap him in the tightest embrace he could manage. And it was as if everything began to pour out of him at once. Stiles could feel the fear, pained guilt, the all-consuming desire for vengeance, for getting to him no matter the cost, all of it flooded across the small space between them as Derek buried his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck. He held on, letting the warm, comforting sensation of Derek’s heartbeat reverberate in his own chest. “Der, is she-”

The werewolf shook his head into Stiles’ neck. “She’s still alive,” he mumbled.

“Good,” Stiles whispered, fatigue suddenly washing away. “Because I need to finish this.”

The feeling of Derek smiling into his skin was perfect in every way, fangs and all.

“I never thought you’d ask.”

It was then that Stiles noticed the bat strapped to Derek’s back.

\--

Galiana woke with a start, and for a painful, panicked second, forgot where she was. As the dim light of the cell pushed into her eyes, bringing the hooded teenager and the werewolf into focus, she felt ice form in her veins. She tried to move, but her wrists were shackled to the pole in the center of the room. The rough iron cuffs dug into her wrists as she tried to pull them free.

“Well look who’s back from the dead,” the teen cooed menacingly. _Stilinski_. Next to him, his filthy werewolf bared his fangs. “You know, I am enjoying the irony of this.” He chuckled lightly as he brought a beaten and bloody-looking bat up to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m not afraid of you, you know,” Galiana spat at him, making sure to let her eyes focus on his. He just laughed again, a maddeningly soft chuckle slipping past his lips. “You have to know that even if you kill me, you won’t make it out of here alive.”

Stilinski smiled. “Oh, I think we will. And there’s no ‘if’ to that statement. You _are_ going to die, make no mistake about it.” Next to him, the wolf breathed out another growl as he twirled a finger of his empty hand through the creature’s dark hair. “You’re still around right now because I want you to know what’s coming.” He crouched, squatting over her legs to level his amber-brown eyes at hers. He braced himself with the round of his bat. “Because I’m not going to kill you. I’m just… not going to stop the hunters who will.”

Galiana’s heart jumped with fear in her chest. _No_ , she thought. _He can’t mean…_ Her eyes went wide in realization.

“That’s right, and you won’t even be able to fight it. _You won’t even feel it_.” He smiled darkly as his voice dropped to a threatening whisper. She should have killed him when she had the chance. “Such a shame you won’t live long enough to know what a _gift_ the bite actually is.” Stilinski’s wolf licked his lips appreciatively behind him, red tongue flicking over the points of his fangs. “They’re going to tear out your claws and cut you in half, and torture you for the monster you are. Before it’s all said and done, you’ll beg for it.”

Fear went wild in the huntress’s veins as her heart stammered in her chest, trying to break free.

“I hope they say the same of you,” Galiana bit out, trying one last threat to save herself. In front of her, Stilinski laughed, and cocked his head to the side stood. For the briefest of seconds, she thought she saw pity scrawl across his bruised face. But it was gone as he flipped the bat back up to his shoulder and wrapped both hands around the handle. With careful, trained eyes, he lined up the hit, letting the rounded, wooden end brush lightly against her temple. Galiana flinched away from the touch.

“No,” she pleaded, last shred of power slipping away. “No, you can’t do this, no… please-”

Stiles cut her off. “Now that's what I like to see. Begging. Good way to get into character,” he snarled, any compassion gone from his voice. She should know, she trained him to be heartless when he could. “Way to think dog-like thoughts,” He urged as he wound the bat back and tightened his grip, and her eyes followed the movement. _This is going to hurt_ , the huntress thought.

“Woof, bitch.” She closed her eyes, and for the first time, hoped for death. The last memory she had was the bright, searing second of pain as he brought the bat down across her head.

\--

When it was done, Stiles locked the cell-door behind them. Derek was next to him, still wolfed-out, but looking a little calmer than before, despite the fact that they still had to get out of this mess. His gaze on Stiles as almost expectant.

“What?” Stiles asked as he turned the key, trying to figure out what Derek wanted. “Oh, right, your collar.” He moved to unlock the chain it with his ring of confiscated keys. Derek caught his wrists in his claws.

“No,” he paused, pulling Stiles’ wrists gingerly back down to his sides, “leave it.” He stepped closer into his mate. Stiles shot him a confused look. “For now,” Derek continued with an understanding nod of his head, “as a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?” Stiles asked, his voice hitched slightly in his throat.

“That you saved me. That I’m _yours_.” Stiles chuckled, and brought his forehead to rest against his mate’s. They shared a quiet, private moment, one that they hadn’t been able to since they were captured, before Derek pressed his lips to Stiles’ gently, cautious to avoid accidentally fanging him. The kiss set Stiles’ nerves ablaze, and his heart stuttered into a full-on sprint as their lips slotted together, fitting just as perfectly as they once had, back when they had been happy, back when they had a pack, and an almost normal life. Stiles let his hands drift up Derek’s neck, over the metal links of the collar, softly sneaking the key into the lock before settling his hands onto the crook of his jawbone.

With a soft click and the springy twang of metal unclasping, the loop of the lock popped open and dragged what was left of the chain clattering to the ground. Derek didn’t even notice.

If Stiles could help it, he’d never put Derek into a chain again.

You know, unless he wanted it.

**Author's Note:**

> For the full story and artwork on tumblr, you can find it here or check out my full blog at watchthewolvesrun.tumblr.com. My blog contains links to my other fanfics, other favorite fics, and prompts that i am looking to write. Aidi's blog (indecentdrawer.tumblr.com) has links to all her awesome fanart, including McCall-Hale, Carverse, and so much more.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Be sure to check us out!
> 
> And don't forget to leave comments and kudos!


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